A Farewell (with love)

When we got home this evening, the goats were lunging against the gate. Unused to more than a few hours without attention, they had apparently occupied themselves all day by shredding, upending, spilling and chewing on anything not permanently attached to the ground.

You were gone so long! Come in and play with us! Feed us! Sweep the broom around like you always do...we missed you so much!  When I told them I needed to change my outfit first, they protested more. Nooo! We love those flowing clothes! We could eat them!  Of course they also wanted the flower arrangements I carried - sorry, goat boys. White roses may look delicious, but here is one thing that is not for you!

Even when they are nibbling your shirt or slobbering on your arm, animals can be a great comfort. Sitting in the pen with two seventy-pound goats jostling for the best position on my lap, I told them about our day, and of a very special person we would miss terribly.

What's a grandma? Emerson asked, nosing in my pocket for stray treats. A grandma, I explained, is someone who does nice things for you, and feeds you, and is never too busy to talk to you and who loves you all the time no matter what.

Even if I knocked over the hay tub and peed in the shed? Yes, even then. (I wondered who did that...)

Even if I ate a whole roof shingle because I was lonely? And I don't have pretty moonspots like my brother? Oh, Emerson, a whole shingle?...but yes, even then. Grandmas are so full of love they never run out.

Mmmm... Ellie snuggled up against me. That sounds so nice. I would miss that grandma. 

I do, Ellie, I already do.

Is There a Tooth Fairy for Goats?

In the past year and a half I have gained an unfathomable amount of knowledge about all things "goat" - I can intelligently discuss such topics as caprine gestation, castration, vaccination and elimination...I understand dire maladies like bloat, urinary calculi, slab-sidedness and meningeal worm...I am well-informed on the nutritional needs of the animal and I am absolutely wicked at hoof-trimming. Last year I even wrote an entire blog about goat teeth.

But...if there is one truth about goats, it is this old cliche - Expext the unexpected. Admit you know nothing, and just wait for the latest goat craziness.

Yesterday I was giving the boys their afternoon bowl of apple chunks, when Elliot suddenly spewed a mouthful of mushy apple pieces all over the top of the house (where he eats his portion). Cleaning up the slimy mess, I discovered one "chunk" that was harder than the rest - only to realize this was no semi-chewed Red Delicious but instead three tiny goat teeth still attached to a piece of jawbone! What on earth? I know that goats normally lose two baby teeth each year, one from each side of the mouth, so clearly this is not right. I saved it in a ziploc bag and added it to our collection of "goat parts" (because someday there might be a museum seeking broken-off scurs or dried goat testicles, you never know...). No obvious bleeding, he is still eating, and I really don't want to put my hand in that mouth...I have no idea what to do here. When I mentioned this event to a friend, she asked (totally serious), "What will you do - take him to a goat dentist?"

Now there's a career I bet my college-bound daughters have never considered!

The other question is, of course, what will the tooth fairy leave for Elliot?

Goats in the Big Apple

Most parents would understand, I think...You love your children, of course, but sometimes you just need a break, a few moments of peace from whining toddlers or sassy teens, or even goats...and so when we recently had the opportunity to spend three days in New York City, I eagerly traded cornfields and creeks for subways and skyscrapers. My written itinerary listed Broadway, Carnegie Hall, Times Square, but a tiny little part of me was also rejoicing that I didn't even have to think about those caprine beasts for three whole days! I would not call to check on them, I would not talk about them, I would not speak their names. I imparted these rules to my family as well, stressing that we could be cultured and discuss only topics such as Art Deco and architecture and French Impressionists. Anyone who even mentioned goats was threatened with the ultimate punishment - being the designated "country idiot" who had to approach a stranger in the subway station and ask which train would take us downtown. (Why on earth do all the maps show routes in colors and yet the actual trains are marked by letters? I knew we needed to find a yellow train to 13th Street, so why were my only options the Q, the R or the M2 Local?? I wanted to shout, "Right, I may seem stupid here, but you should see my skill at hoof-trimming!") 

In Broadway's Gershwin Theatre, Wicked was spellbinding, spectular, packed with fantastic music, plot and special effects. Only one problem - someone should have warned us about Dr. Dillamond. Yes, one of the main characters (a history professor at the school where Glinda and Elphaba study) is indeed a talking goat. Strike one for a goat-free vacation.

The following day we trekked some thirty blocks to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. (I had meticulously mapped out a bus route for this trip, but my husband thought the walk would be "fun." Had the city not been smothered in 95 degree heat, he might have been right...) Here at least we could appreciate priceless Monets, Rembrandts, Picassos...oh my goodness, there were goats everywhere! I tried not to spot them, but in nearly every room we spied goats - painted, sculpted, etched into jewelry and Egyptian artifacts, even leering at us from the yogurt for sale in the cafe! There was no escape. That would be strike two.

Meandering downtown in search of affordable shopping (hint - there are half a dozen thrift stores at 23rd and 3rd Streets!), we wandered into Madison Square Park. We took in the lush greenery, a colorful and gigantic display of knitted rope artwork, and individual fenced areas apparently designed to contain romping New York dogs. I'm sure at that moment we all had the same thought, but unfortunately I spoke first.

"Can't you just imagine bringing the goats here?" I called to Emily. "They would absolutely love it!"

Oops. Strike three. Maybe we aren't meant for this urban life. How soon can we go home? I miss those crazy goats!